Author: Peter Sargent
Category: Suspense
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/peter-sargent/page,16,22515-the-dead-reckoner-volume-one-absolution-and-desolation.html
climbed up again, pushing the other man back out onto the deck. Aaron let out a truncated yelp when the big man took him by the shoulders. Nagel dragged his opponent to the edge and lifted him by his shoulders. He had Aaron off his feet and pressed against the railing, a little shove away from tumbling into the harbor, when Rosalind came up and scolded him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Kevin dropped the man, letting his head slam into a steel bar. It bled. Rosalind lifted a hatch under a seat and retrieved a first aid kit. She patched Aaron up.
Rosalind said, “It's not that bad.” She looked at Nagel. “You could apologize.”
The doctor climbed down from the boat and disappeared without a word. Aaron gave Rosalind a frightened look, which faded as she helped him up.
Rosalind said, “Do you want me to call someone?”
“It's not your fault.”
“That's not what I asked, but I'm sorry anyway.”
“I'm sorry about your sister.” said Aaron. “And your birthday.”
Rosalind went to put the first aid kit back. For a moment her gaze fell down the hatch and looked at the broken bits of her wheels, the eyes reflecting the light that came through a port hole. In the next moment, she felt woozy and grabbed her head. She stuttered step left and right and fell. Rosalind landed on the seat where she'd taken the kit from and Aaron came over to her. He asked if she was okay.
“Yes.” She said, pressed the palm of her hand against her head. “Have you ever known anyone with a neural implant?”
“You've got a chip in your head? You must make the big money.”
“It's only for my memory.” she said. “But a swear it stings me like it's my conscience sometimes.”
“You feel that guilty?” He chuckled a little.
“Not so much about Kevin, sorry.” She looked up and over the ship masts. The pain eased a little and she took her hand away. “My company has three partners. They are myself, Kevin and Reggie. Today the first two will betray the third.”
“I sure hope the two of you aren't planning on running off together.”
Rosalind laughed. “Kevin's problem is that he's undisciplined. He's a total mess. That's something I just can't stand. Once this is done, I hope I never see him again.”
Near the ladder, she saw a card on the ground. She picked it up. It was a generic birthday card, with a picture of a sunset on the front. Rosalind opened it and found a long note written inside. When she finished reading it, she bit her lip and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling on the ends a little as if she were going to pull it out.
Aaron said, “Did he get you a birthday card?”
“I think he wrote me a love letter. Or a suicide note.”
ELEVEN
When Reggie walked out of his complex with the pistol that had killed Todd Laurel, he wasn't sure if he'd need to use it again. He half thought of pointing it at George Simon, his lead coder, but that was just a passing idea. It wasn't part of the plan.
“You really think I'm an idiot, don't you?” said George on the other end of the phone.
Reggie was crossing the street as he said, “It would be better for you if I did, but I don't.”
“I've got something to show you. Seriously, this will kill you. Gonna be in soon?”
“Not today George. We have company.”
“I know. That means you haven't got long to see this.”
“George, do not so much as breath until I arrive.” he hung up.
Reggie boarded the Silver Line as he did every weekday morning and most weekends as well. The line, an electric bus that connected with the subway system, was Reggie's favorite part of Boston's mass transit system. For as long as he could remember, Reggie had been fascinated with transit. He could name dozens of light rail car models and had memorized the system maps of Boston, New York, London, Montreal and many other cities. Sometimes Reggie cornered a fellow rider and accosted them with the history of tunnel construction techniques.
The fares were few and sparse that morning. Reggie chose an isolated seat near the back and watched the ocean as it peeked out and disappeared behind the rows of new construction along the seaport. As the bus slipped underground, a man walked over. He looked to be in his mid twenties. He was dressed in an untucked gray button shirt and ripped jeans and wore a rather well developed beard. The bearded man sat next to Reggie and held his phone up.
He said, “You're Reginald Binder, aren't you?”
“I am. You should schedule interviews through my office.”
“I've heard rumors that you're losing control of your company. Is there any truth to that?”
“What rumors?” said Reggie.
“Not everyone is happy with the direction you're taking Polymath.” said the bearded one. “If that's true and it were to become public that would be quite a blow to the Sorter's credibility.”
“You've heard wrong. As for the Sorter's credibility, it's based on science and that can't be altered, no matter what the people around it may do.”
“Mr. Binder.” The kid laughed. “Since when does credibility have anything to do with the truth? The Sorter has become a near religion with millions of people who no nothing about its inner workings, which as I understand it are proprietary anyway. Now the US Congress is due to vote on major expansions of the Sorter's powers. As far as I'm concerned that's a violation of the separation of church and state.”
“I see.” said Binder. “You have an agenda.”
“I only want to understand what we're buying into here.”
“Can you come with me?”
The bus slid into South Station and Reggie departed. He lead his interviewer through a maze of tunnels which interconnected the various bus, subway and heavy rail systems. They arrived at a mens room and entered. Reggie checked the stalls. Satisfied that there was no one inside with them, he dragged a large trash barrel over to the door. Then he shoved the other guy into the wall of urinals and the kid scrambled to find something to hold onto and steady himself. Reggie pulled his gun and placed the muzzle against the bearded man's head.
Reggie said, “Are you threatening me?”
“It's not me.” said the kid, holding his hands up with his palms out. “It's not me.”
“Are you some kind of reporter?”
“I'm a blogger.”
Binder let the gun fall and turned his back to his opponent. He looked at himself in the mirror that stretched along the wall above the sinks. A blogger.
“Fine.” said Reggie. “Go.”
“What?” said the kid, not knowing was was good for him. “Over two hundred thousand people read me every day.”
Reggie turned back to him. “Okay, so you want me to hurt you? Who's your source?”
“I can't say that.”
“Because you need to keep your sources confidential? Come off it, you're no journalist.”
“I'm not telling you anyway.” said the bearded man. “What matters is that I have communications written by one of your partners, Rosalind Munro.”
“Rosalind?” said Reggie. “Really? Let me see.”
The kid shook his head. Then he slipped his phone in his pants pocket. Now Reggie knew that's where he'd find the incriminating information. He charged back in the other man's direction and whipped him across his forehead with the butt of his pistol. The kid went down. Reggie leaned over him and stuck his hands in his pockets, retrieving the phone. As the bearded one rose, Reggie slammed the point of his shoes into the man's gut. Down again. Reggie secreted the phone in his own jacket and left.
Reggie returned to street level and entered the Atlantic Mall. The Atlantic was an upscale shopping center near the city's most tourist choked districts. It featured a grand, marble floored atrium with an indoor waterfall and trees. Along one side of the atrium, a three story glass wall overlooked the Rose Kennedy Greenway. A staircase swept around the edge of the other side. Reg
gie climbed this staircase to a balcony where the open retail area of the building gave away to the office space of the upper floors. A twenty story tower rose above the mall, but Reggie's destination was here on the balcony level.
He swiped an Id card at a set of turnstiles and nodded to the guard who manned the line between the shops below and the tenants above. Reggie followed the balcony until he reached the last suite, where the name POLYMATH stood in human sized letters just to the right of the entrance. These were the offices of Reginald Binder's company. This is where the Sorter lived.
The front room was small and dominated by a long reception desk similar to the sort you might find in a hotel. Despite having room for several people behind it, there was never more than one. That one was always the same face.
“Good morning Cass.” said Reggie.
Cass was little short of breathtaking. She was an olive skinned, curly haired mix of features. She looked exotic to everyone, whether they were American or Indian or from somewhere in between. It was impossible to guess her race by looking at her. This only made them want to look at her more. Folks wanted to place her and they never could. It only added to her charm. And this was the point. She was always the first thing anyone coming to PM encountered. Sometimes the sight of her stunned the male visitors well enough to handicap them in subsequent negotiations. This was advantageous because most of his callers were from companies looking to license his technology, and most were middle aged men.
“Cass.” said Reggie. “Is everything okay?”
“I'm not feeling well.”